It is calving season here in the Palouse hills of Eastern Washington. That wonderful time of year when Murphy's Law takes full effect: anything that can go wrong will go wrong. I'm almost nearly completely 100% positive that even if a rancher watched his cow herd every single minute of the day, had top notch calving facilities and spent eight years becoming a vet...something would still go wrong a lot sooner rather than later.

A couple weeks ago, we* were wrapping up a day of work when part of the crew brought in a cow that had been working at calving all day with no calf to show for it. The sun had slipped below the towering edges of the Snake River canyons long before that and so, with the hum of a diesel engine in the background, we snugged the cow up to a post to investigate the issue in the glow of the truck's headlights.

Fifteen minutes of sorting out feet, pulling and muttering later, there were two black calves hanging upside down catching their first breath. For waiting so long to hit the ground, they were in remarkably good shape. No swollen heads or tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths. I hate the hanging tongue syndrome – it’s too reminiscent of a bad 80s horror flick.

These are some of my favorite moments of ranching. Oh not the twins part - I've a few choice words to say about twins. Twins are a headache with eight legs. Either they're too small, and they never do quite as well as they should even when one is grafted onto another cow. Or they're too big, and they're just a little bit stupid and...don't do quite as well as they should even when one is grafted onto another cow. They're time intensive, and the cost to the cow is a pretty big price to pay too. I'd rather have one good calf than twins any day of the week.

But my twins tirade aside, these really are some of my favorite moments. Watching calves hit the ground rates right up there with topping out over a great view and not having to crawl out of the warm cab to lock the hubs in. I suppose they're most anybody's favorite moment. It's why we're in the cattle business after all - without baby calves, we wouldn't have a business.

And maybe it's because in those first few minutes of watching a calf take in its new surroundings, it's easy for me to let my worries slip away and drink in the simple elements that make up a life. And also because in those first few minutes, I'm still bigger and stronger than the little buggers and can make them do what I want.

*”We” refers to my ranching friends, the Ryan Brothers operation, here in Washington. Iowa is a little bit of a commute, and I can’t quite make it for morning chores. I’m sure Iowa references will crop up frequently, but all the live, present-day, dirt-in-your-face stories are chronicles of my experiences with the Ryan crew.